


The Right Man

by andromedacrawley



Series: Filling in the Gaps [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Gen, Introspection, Misunderstandings, Romance, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedacrawley/pseuds/andromedacrawley
Summary: “Mary thought once again about Sybil's words, about Branson being the right man for her. How was she so certain? What made her so confident?“The thoughts of the Crawley sisters the morning after Sybil and Tom’s failed elopement.
Relationships: Edith Crawley & Mary Crawley & Sybil Crawley, Edith Crawley & Matthew Crawley, Edith Crawley/Anthony Strallan (mentioned), Mary Crawley/Matthew Crawley, Mary Crawley/Richard Carlisle (mentioned), Matthew Crawley/Lavinia Swire (mentioned), Tom Branson/Sybil Crawley
Series: Filling in the Gaps [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812127
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	The Right Man

The door opening caused Edith to jolt awake. "Sorry!" Matthew wheeled himself into the room, apprehensive. "I didn't know— I didn't mean to wake you, to startle you—"

The book that she had been reading had fallen to the floor, several of its pages bent. Edith winced, knowing Papa would hate it... that is, if he ever bothered to read _Little Women._ Mama, on the other hand... "That's alright," said Edith, giving him a smile and silencing him. "I shouldn't have been sleeping— I'm rather embarrassed, now..."

Matthew gave her a smile. "Don't be. It's alright. You've seen me at some of my lowest points... I think I've humiliated myself in front of you more than you have in front of me."

Edith wasn't quite sure how true that statement was. She recalled that fateful trip to the local churches, absolutely mortified when she realized he was far more interested in the architecture than with her. "What brings you in here?" asked Edith, rising to her feet. Perhaps moving around would wake her up more.

"Your father needs some papers. He's taking me down to some of the farms today, to see how things are going." He wheeled himself over to Papa's desk, before using his arms to pull himself upright. Edith instinctually moved closer, hating the thought of him losing his balance and toppling over. The fact he had regained control of his legs was truly wonderful. "Is Sybil feeling any better today?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her yet," said Edith. She had only crossed paths with Mary, who looked as tired as Edith felt, talking on the phone with Richard Carlisle.

"What a shame," said Matthew, shuffling through papers. "Why weren't you and Mary at breakfast this morning? I hope you aren't coming down the same thing."

Edith translated the sentence quickly: _Why wasn't Mary at breakfast? I hope she's not coming down with the same thing._ It was always about Mary—

"We were up late. Talking. About wedding plans," invented Edith, sentences stagnated as she contrived more information to make it seem credible. Matthew's hands stilled for a brief moment. Edith couldn't tell if was because he was trying to maintain his balance or if it was because she had mentioned the wedding— though if she had to guess, it was the latter.

"Oh. I see." _Definitely the latter,_ Edith decided. "Well, I'm glad you two are getting along with each other better now."

"I wouldn't say we're getting along better," said Edith quickly, not wanting to cast suspicion when their next fight broke out. "I think she just wanted another ear. You know how Mary can be. She's so terribly indecisive."

A flash of something that looked like pain crossed Matthew's face. Edith regretted saying it. She didn't know what exactly had happened between her sister and him, but Edith suspected it had something to do with the letter she had sent and Mr. Pamuk... At the time, she had been hellbent on casting Mary as a villain, the author of her own misfortune, a greedy woman who wanted to reign over Downton as Countess of Grantham, regardless of who the heir was. Given the distaste she had expressed for Matthew upon meeting him, Edith figured her sister's feelings weren't genuine, that she was playing along to be Countess. But now...

"Right," said Matthew, finally seeming to locate the right papers. "I'll be on my way. I won't disturb you much longer." Though he seemed scattered, he managed to shoot her a grin and say, "You can return to your nap."

"Please don't say anything to anyone else," Edith practically begged. If Mary were to ever find out...

Matthew smiled. "Don't worry. We'll keep it between us." He lowered himself back into his wheelchair, letting out a labored sigh, before wheeling himself to the door. "I'll see you later," he called out.

A few minutes later, Mary burst in. "You've just missed Matthew," Edith said, figuring she was looking for him there. It was hardly like Mary to seek her out.

"Where's Sybil?"

"How am I supposed to know where she is?"

"I told her to join us in the library," said Mary impatiently.

Edith sighed. "Isn't it obvious? She wants nothing to do with us."

"We need to talk about what happened last night!"

"I agree, but we need to give her time," said Edith, shocked when Mary sat down beside her on the couch.

"What do you think of it?"

"You mean her and Branson?" When Mary nodded, Edith sat her book down, somewhat incredulous that Mary cared to know what she was thinking. "Well, if I'm being honest, I'm still in shock. He's the chauffeur."

"But you agree that it's highly unsuitable?"

"Of course!" Branson was nothing more than a servant to her; he had taught her to drive, which meant she had spent more time with him than many of the others, but he was practically a stranger to her. How could Sybil know enough about him to marry him? "I wish I knew what she had been thinking."

"I don't think she has," quipped Mary dryly, leaning back.

"I can't imagine it... marrying a chauffeur." For a moment, Edith wondered if Mary would throw in a barb, something like _You'd he lucky if you could even manage to attract a chauffeur._ It was no secret she was unlucky in love; the only man she had a chance at marrying was Sir Anthony, and he had no interest in her now. Then there had been Patrick— or perhaps he was really Peter. At any rate, she seemed not to have met the right man yet.

But there was no sense in further dwelling on her lamentable love life— not when Sybil was the one most in danger. "Perhaps we ought to convince Mama to start inviting young men over again," proposed Edith, thinking of how things were before the war. "Larry Grey was always sweet on her..."

"Oh, we can do better than Larry Grey for Sybil!" Mary burst out. "What about Tom Bellasis? She thought he was funny—"

"He's dead," answered Edith. So was Edgar Urquart, the young investment banker who Sybil has danced with at her ball, and Lord Asterly, the handsome man who had taken a shine to her sister shortly after inheriting a vast estate. So many men of their generation were gone, existing only as mere memories and photographs now, or injured.

She could tell Mary was thinking the same thing as her. "Well... we'll have to think of someone," she decided, rising and marching to the door. Edith picked up her book again, wondering how different the future would be... and if it really mattered, Branson being a chauffeur, when there were so few options left.

* * *

Sybil had finally been persuaded into speaking with her sisters before Miss O'Brien was sent up to dress them. Anna was sequestered in her room, catching up on sleep after the events of the previous night.

"I just don't see the appeal," said Mary, running lotion onto her hands. "Branson isn't horrid to look at, I'll grant you—" That admission caused Edith's eyebrows to rise, but Mary paid her no mind, "—but for heaven's sake, he's the chauffeur! What does know about apart from cars and his politics?"

"Mary, you can be so utterly disappointing!" exclaimed Sybil from Mary's bed. "There's so much more to Tom than his profession!"

"Sybil," began Edith, with that almost condescending tone of hers, "I'm sure there must be many appealing qualities to Branson... but can't you see how different your life will be? Have you even bothered to think about this realistically?"

"Of course we have! We put a great deal of thought into it!"

"Oh, yes," Mary said sarcastically, spinning herself around. "Like an elaborate wedding ceremony in Gretna Green." When Sybil glowered at her, Mary found herself tilting her head to the side and saying, "You do realize you have to live there for two weeks before they'll perform a ceremony, don't you?"

Mary knew Sybil was unaware, even when she cast an annoyed glare Mary's way and tightly replied, "Yes."

"How did you know?" Edith asked.

Mary shrugged instead of telling them about one of the amusing anecdotes Matthew used to tell her when they were courting one another, one of which involved his old school friend and his neighbor running away to be married. Their parents had caught up with them and Matthew, knowledgeable enough in the law, had given her that tidbit of information.

"So were you planning to live together, unmarried?" Mary asked, crossing one leg over the other. When Sybil began blushing, Mary supplied yet another question. "Were you going to buy a house there, or were you planning on staying in inns for the entire two weeks?"

"Why does that matter now? You ruined everything!" Sybil burst out.

Ruined everything? She shared a glance with Edith. Had it been that simple...? "What do you mean? Has Branson called things off?" Edith questioned hopefully.

"Of course not!" Both Edith and Mary's shoulders slumped. "Tom loves me! I said we would be married and I meant it! He's not the sort to go back on his word!"

Unintentionally, Mary thought of Matthew, of the blasted garden party where her heart and been destroyed to smithereens. _He didn't go back on his word,_ she reminded herself, _He made no promises to you. If anything, you were the one who went back on your word. He had every right to take it back._

"Sybil, how well do you know him, really?" Edith had begun her questioning once more. It was strange, how she was now Mary's ally whilst they waged war against Sybil, who kept casting them disdainful looks.

"I know him far better than you do!"

"Obviously," Mary said, well aware that comment wasn't helpful, but unable to resist anyway.

"What I mean is... well, I'm sure you've seen plenty of wonderful things about him. You aren't the sort who would marry just anybody." Mary watched Edith draw Sybil in, like a spider weaving a web to capture a fly. She almost envied her ability to sound so calm and rational, especially when at present she was too worried about Sybil and her future to be seen as either. "He's a nice man," she added, causing Sybil's features to soften, "but even the best people have their faults. Do you know anything about his?"

Mary had a list of Richard's worst qualities that spanned the length of a mile and then some... in fact, these days it was harder and harder to remember why she had found him such wonderful company to begin with.

And Matthew... Matthew had plenty of faults. Faults that made her want to scream at the sky, faults that made her want to tear her hair out... faults that made her love him more and more, as much as she wished sometimes that she could forget she had ever loved him at all. She understood in an instant just what Edith was getting at.

"Plenty." Mary was shocked. "He's far from perfect— He was so persistent at times it was annoying."

"That hardly sounds like a fault to me," said Edith, but of course it wouldn't seem that way to her; she was persistent as well, unable to understand that sometimes people weren't interested.

"He can be terribly arrogant, too," added Sybil, as if she needed to prove that Branson wasn't Prince Charming... and as if Mary or Edith needed any reminders. But in a way, Mary supposed she did need to prove to them that she knew the full extent of Branson's character. "And he's stubborn and sometimes he doesn't think before he speaks... but it doesn't matter. He's the right man for me."

In that moment, Mary realized the horrible truth. Sybil wouldn't wake up and see reason. This wasn't a brief, youthful infatuation— she really did love the chauffeur. She wondered now if it really was worth arguing any further when Sybil's mind was undoubtedly made up and these feelings she had weren't going to go away anytime soon.

Her sister's words echoed in her mind long after they were spoken, as O'Brien helped them dress and do their hair. She was almost in daze, which kept up until she went down for dinner.

"Are you alright?" somebody asked. Much to her surprise, it was Matthew, approaching her. He wore a smile, a warm one, the sorts she pictured when she closed her eyes, but he also seemed concerned.

"I am. Sorry. I was getting lost in my own thoughts." She returned the smile, meeting his eyes. "Are Lavinia and your mother coming tonight?"

Matthew shook his head. "After all the excitement, they wanted a relaxing evening. I can hardly blame them." He chuckled to himself, seeming unaware of her longer gaze. She was soaking up every moment alone, understanding a time would come when instances such as this were a luxury. Her love for him aside, Matthew was one of her dearest friends and Sir Richard was already jealous of the bond they shared.

"Nor I, really," she said, thinking of the midnight chase from last night. One of Mary's biggest fears upon finding the car parked at an inn was that Sybil was about to make the same mistake she had all those years ago. The relief she had felt upon finding them both fully clothed and not in bed together was palpable. The last thing she wanted for Sybil walk the tightrope she was now.

"I was worried about you," Matthew confessed, almost nervously. "I've heard about this Spanish flu going around and when you didn't join us for breakfast..."

Mary couldn't resist smiling again. Selfishly, she had been glad when Matthew was forced to stay at Downton when the rest of the soldiers returned home. Crawley House wasn't designed for wheelchairs whereas Downton had a couple of small bedrooms on the main floor. It meant that she was guaranteed an opportunity to see him everyday, to eat breakfast with one another... but she supposed that would change soon.

"I'm well. I was just tired." She smiled to herself. "I was up reading the most fascinating novel."

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed. "After you and Edith were talking about wedding plans?"

Wedding plans? "What are you talking about?"

"Edith told me." There was almost a hard look in his eyes. "There's no need to lie to me, Mary."

My God... did he suspect? Had Sybil said something to him about Branson?

"I'm happy for you," continued Matthew. "Just as I hope you are happy for me in Lavinia. You don't need to make up stories to spare my feelings, not when there has been nothing between us for quite some time."

Mary blinked. She had no idea if he was intending to wound her with his words, but if so, he had succeeded most wonderfully. At once, she was suddenly angry— with him, with Edith for crafting some stupid lie, with Sybil for making her be awake all night in the first place, with Branson who had decided to pursue her sister and created the catalyst that lead to this particular moment...

"I'm well aware of that," she replied cooly, wishing she could craft some insult that would sting as fiercely as _there's nothing between us,_ but Mary found herself at a loss. There were a million horrid lies on her tongue, things like _There was never anything to begin with._ The thought of injuring his feelings so intentionally was something she couldn't bear. _Why do I still love you?_ She asked, wishing she was more the girl she had been before Matthew Crawley came to Downton Abbey. That cold, unthinking girl would have been better suited to deal with this than the version of her standing here now. "And I don't know what stories Edith has been telling you, but I assure you that I would never seek out her advice for my wedding. I have taste." It was the most she could muster before walking away from him, joining Granny by the couch. She didn't dare to glance behind her, even when she knew her words wouldn't hold the same bite. After all... there was nothing between them.

Mary avoided him at dinner, even though they had been placed beside one another. Matthew didn't even seem to notice, going on and on about the farms and his legs and his upcoming move back to Crawley House and Lavinia...

Mary thought once again about Sybil's words, about Branson being the right man for her. How was she so certain? What made her so confident? If Mary took a full inventory of the men who had crossed her path, she would have determined Matthew was that enigmatic "right man" for her... but that couldn't be true, could it? Not when he was marrying someone else.

Mary knew she was acting perfectly awful the rest of the night, cutting off her mother when she asked Mary about Haxby and ignoring Edith's questions at dinner— though she felt that was far more polite than voicing the near homicidal thoughts she was thinking when she recalled her not quite argument with Matthew.

If he was angry with her for marrying Carlisle, that was his affair. She hadn't been the one to retract the proposal, hadn't been the one to leave, the one who inserted herself back into his life with a fiancé...

Sybil retired for bed shortly after dinner, claiming she was tired, but Mary wondered if that was really where she was going.

* * *

The cool night's air felt wonderful against her skin as she walked down the gravel path. All day, aside from a brief moment this morning, Sybil had been trapped inside with her family. She loved them, she really did, but she hated living this way. She hated having to pretend she wasn't in love, she hated having to continue on carrying out rules and rituals she didn't believe in, and sitting in the drawing room while everyone wished things would return to " _the way they were before the war._ "

There was only one person who could understand.

Tom was engrossed in the task of repairing something when Sybil entered the garage. She didn't have to make a sound for him to be aware of her presence. He wore a sad smile as she walked towards him. "Hello," he said as Sybil walked, then ran, into the garage, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight. She inhaled deeply, his scent almost a balm to the ache she has felt almost all day when she silently lamented about not being his wife.

"I'd hug you back, but my hands have oil all over them," said Tom. He bent his head enough to press a kiss to the crown of her head, even as his hands stretched out somewhere in front of them in order to not damage the material of her dress.

Sybil pulled away reluctantly, folding her hands in front of herself, allowing Tom the opportunity to clean his hands with the rag he kept nearby. "Did you know that there's a two week's residency requirement to marry at Gretna Green?"

Tom looked up. "No. No, I didn't." He turned back to his task. "That's something they don't tell you about in the novels, is it?" There was a small smile playing on his lips.

In spite of the sadness that had clung to her all day, a peal of laughter escaped her. Tom joined in, and soon they were both laughing loudly, Tom leaning against the car to support himself. It was far better than the alternative, which was feeling sorry for themselves.

"Oh, Sybil," murmured Tom, now walking forward and taking her into his arms. She loved the sound of her name in his voice, a way no one else could ever hope of saying it. It was such a new development, for she had been _Lady Sybil_ to him for so long, just as he had been _Branson_ instead of _Tom_. "We'll figure out something," he told her quietly. "We will."

"I know." She rested her head against his chest, her hand close to his beating heart. She tried to listen for the heart murmur, the condition that had saved him from going to the front and kept him at Downton for her to realize how much he really meant to her. It was simply a fight of fancy; since learning of it, Sybil had researched it and found it could only be heard through a stethoscope. "I think it will be better this way," she admitted. "Besides... if we had ran off in the night, they might have thought I was ashamed when it couldn't be any farther from the truth."

Tom drew away from her suddenly, and Sybil was about to ask what was wrong when she felt his lips against her. She let her eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling, hand still pressed by his heart.

"I love you," he gasped, pulling away. He didn't even need to say it; Sybil would have been able to tell by the look in his eyes alone how he felt. It made her wonder how there had ever been a time when she hadn't been able to see it.

Maybe it wasn't necessary, what with the fact she was willing to risk everything to be with him, but she too sweetly said, "I love you."


End file.
